


Motor City Wintergirl

by cherryflood



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Bulimia, Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Eating Disorders, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Feels, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Near Death, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Reader-Insert, Romance, Swearing, and dramatic, boys and romance arent cures tho k, but super realistic, cardiac arrest - Freeform, its kind of extreme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-09-26 17:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20393230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryflood/pseuds/cherryflood
Summary: Something happened to you while away from work at the precinct to care for an injured family member, and Connor's concern for you on your first day back is validated when you crumple to the floor of the police station. Though a deviant, his mission is clear: bring you back.orThe one where your eating disorder almost kills you, but Hank's a dad and Connor cares.hiatus until my love for spn fades again <3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning for eating disorders in general and graphic resuscitation for cardiac arrest 
> 
> I try to make a firm effort not to glorify mental illness or romanticize eating disorders. this work is like totally unnecessarily dramatic and extra, but its blatant and realistic and took genuinely a lot of research, though I do apologize for any mistakes in my interpretation of a realistic resuscitation/might be different in other countries etc. I tried but im not perfect! (:
> 
> previously titled "gut feeling" but it was trash and didnt match in the grand scheme of things. i mean it's worse now but at least more encompassing lol

“Hey boys, pretty wild that there was a whole android revolution. Sorry I had to miss most of the excitement.”

“Well I’ll be fuckin’ goddamned. Back from fleeing in fear, huh?”

“I’d hardly call a family emergency ‘fleeing in fear’ you insensitive old man.”

It was your first day back at the Detroit City Police Department and things were different, but stable, as you returned to your administrative manager position. A very close elderly family member had taken a life-changing fall and you had to take two months of family medical leave to care for them. Though you’d missed the peaceful android uprising and their reintegration into society, you had been at work prior to the event visiting with Connor whenever you stopped by to annoy Hank.

You had been responsible for many of the pesky software instability warnings the RK800 had received as a machine. Every smile, laugh, touch and kind treatment towards Connor had nudged at the cracks in his impassive default behavior. In fact, he’d become so unknowingly smitten that Hank almost thought you yourself would cause him to break free from his programming, but then you left work.

“It’s great to see you all woken up, Connor.” You beamed at the android. “You look very smart out of your CyberLife jacket. I totally would’ve been sad if you hadn’t chosen to come back to work here! You’ll have to catch me up on what it’s like having free will!” you gushed unabashedly, your giddiness only growing when Connor mirrored your grin. “Anyways, what’s with this grey mop on your head, old man?”

Connor took his time examining you thoroughly while you and Hank went back and forth. You were an undeniably welcome sight and something seemed to tug on him: he had missed you. It relaxed him to see your pretty smile and simply be in your cheerful presence once again, and he was grateful to feel such emotion properly thanks to his deviancy. You were glowing, though not completely, he noticed. Your contagious glee gave your expression a certain light, but no amount of makeup could hide the exhaustion in your eyes and how your face appeared drained and pale. Even your hair seemed to have lost all of its shine. Your cheeks seemed a little hollow, and he could tell by your puffy jaw that your salivary glands were swollen. He wondered briefly if you were suffering from dry mouth.

It was comforting to see you wearing familiar professional clothing, but something seemed off about the thick wools and layered knits. Your nails were pale and he watched you rub your hands together before making an attempt to tighten the scarf around your neck. One end had become much longer than the other so you pulled it off to start a fresh arrangement, allowing Connor to notice what caused his suspicion. The way the neckline of your thick cashmere sweater sat awkwardly over your shoulders made it clear how it was oddly too big for you. Every item of clothing was loose in fact. Your attire hid it well but you had lost quite a bit of weight during your leave. He tuned in to hear you chattering away so continued to figure you out; something still felt wrong to him. Hank had told him before this new deviant emotion was a gut feeling; instinct. Something he should trust.

He glanced over your thin hair and tired eyes and found one other puzzle piece on the surface. The knuckles of your index and middle finger of your right hand were marred with red, callused marks. Perhaps you had hit something out of anger.

Hank had instructed Connor recently that it was rude to scan people when it wasn’t necessary because it was an invasion of privacy and could make people uncomfortable. Of course the android abided by every important lesson for being more human that his father figure taught him, but just this once he wanted all the details. However, your sweet lilting voice interrupted him. Like tinkling ice and wind singing through a crowded forest, your soft tone brought him out of his mind and for the first time in a while, he didn’t register what was being said to him.

“Connor,” you chuckled out, shaking his shoulder gently. “I don’t blame you for being able to daydream but…”

Startled by your touch and sudden proximity, the deviant jolted to his senses. While an embarrassed expression crept over his face, he shook his head as if it would sweep away his dazed feeling and sat up straighter below your hand. “Sorry, Miss (L/N). I was… Reviewing what I know about our current case.”

“Kid” – Hank couldn’t help but snicker – “we haven’t been assigned a new case yet.”

Connor turned to the lieutenant, eyes wide with alarm. How dare his closest companion betray him like this! He felt a familiar sense of heat rise through his systems, well aware that his emotions had his face flooding with red. He almost groaned in annoyance but fear of how you might react to his lie kept him frozen.

“No way! Look at that red, oh my, he’s blushing, this is adorable, Hank! Bless CyberLife for equipping him with the goods to now have this function!” You crouched down to Connor’s knees so you could meet his eyes when his gaze flicked down. “The joys of having feelings, hey pal? You look lovely with a little colour so don’t be shy. And you know it’s just (Y/N), silly.”

Connor couldn’t help but reply to your warm smile with a timid one of his own. For a moment, he let your vibrant irises draw him in as he got lost in your eyes, but his goal of figuring you out sprung back into his mind. He added the pale hairs – lanugo, he realized – that swept across your cheeks and neck to his list of clues. In a calculating manner, he looked over your crouched position and the way a hand on his knee kept you balanced, your cold touch reminding him that your body temperature could be of interest. He had to cover all his bases anyways. He made a point of looking up to the ceiling of the precinct to produce the sound of a dramatic sigh and, with a little remorse, turned in his swivel chair just enough for you to lose your grip and tip backwards. Then he leaned down and reached for you, his hands strategically under your armpits as he saved you from your tumble.

“My apologies, (Y/N),” he told you in a sincere tone. The number ninety-six spun around and around his mind as he released you, because that had been your temperature reading: ninety-six and a half degrees Fahrenheit. This in itself was troubling to the android; humans normally weren’t so cold and it was outside of healthy range. But then you moved to stand and he only had a split second to decide that knowing your blood pressure might ease his growing concern. Swiftly, he reached out and locked his hand around your bicep under the guise of helping you up.

Connor squeezed and when you winced so did he; it was difficult to hurt you with the pinch of his grasp, but at least his method for gathering more evidence was successful. He rested his hand back on his thigh once you had straightened up, masking his shock and confusion for the time being. His inspection uncovered your obvious hypotension as your readings were eighty over sixty-four, and he suddenly wanted access to your medical history to see if such low blood pressure was appropriate for you. He needed to scan –

“Jeez Connor,” you groaned, light tone showing you weren’t truly annoyed. You rubbed at where his hand had been while you moved back to center yourself between both of the men’s desks. “I’m human; I’m kind of delicate. Tone down that super strength of yours.”

“Now don’t go manhandling the lady, Connor,” Hank chimed in. His voice indicated he was joking but his eyes were narrowed as he watched the android closely. He knew him well enough to know something was up.

Connor awkwardly stared at you for a beat, before clueing back into the conversation. “Yes, my bad, (Y/N).” He looked to the lieutenant with the slightest expression of concern. Lost, his partner only continued his chat with you, hesitantly this time. And it was exactly what the deviant needed to resume his analysis.

Connor wasted no time using his advanced abilities to gather information on your remaining vitals. With the rapid inflation of your lungs and rise and fall of your chest, you demonstrated clear signs of shortness of breath, though it seemed you were putting up with your quick breathing well. Next he took in your heart rate. The weak organ in your chest thudded at a surprising forty-eight beats per minute, and he was certain it wasn’t caused by peak athletic shape. None of your symptoms led to positive results, and your heart – Connor stood suddenly from his chair. It had stopped.

“Connor what the fuck is your – Jesus Christ!” Your sudden collapse to the floor of the police department sent Hank out of his seated position as well. “Kid?” he called as he shuffled around his desk, cellphone already out to dial for emergency services.

Connor was much quicker. He was knelt at your side in a split second and began chest compressions immediately after straightening your frail body. Panic and fear threatened to tear through every defense he had against overwhelming emotions, but knowing he needed a clear head for your safety kept his distress at bay. He tilted your head back, pinched your nose, and blew two artificial even breaths past your lips before returning to your chest. Officers and detectives alike began to approach the disturbance in the bullpen.

“Tell them a young adult female has entered sudden cardiac arrest and that cardiopulmonary resuscitation is being administered.” Connor’s voice was loud and firm as he told Hank what the 911 operator needed to know. Someone dropped down across from Connor, and he was relieved to see Officer Miller – Chris – preparing one of the department’s portable AEDs. “And that the automated external defibrillator will be used,” he added on just before delivering another set of breaths to your body.

The gravity of the situation hit Hank once Chris had run scissors up your torso to remove your clothing for the placement of the AED pads. He could’ve been wrong, but he thought he saw Connor mumble an apology for your indecency as Chris patted your skin with a towel. The way you lay exposed and unable to protest struck the lieutenant in such a way that he couldn’t control how his eyes watered. But paramedics would arrive soon and Hank had faith in Detroit’s advanced modern medicine; fewer people died of cardiac arrest every year.

“Everybody clear,” Chris stated loudly, the faintest quiver in his voice. With the defibrillator pads in place and Connor’s hands off of you, he pressed the button on the AED to deliver an appropriate shock to your chest. You jolted off the ground. A moment went by, and the device instructed for CPR to resume, which Connor wasted no time attending to. Hands to chest, mouth to mouth, then back again. A second electric shock became available, and it was delivered just as emergency medical services arrived at the building. Your body spasmed violently once more and this time it had the desired effect: your heart regained a weak rhythm.

“She… Her heart is beating,” Connor announced to the uniformed medic that was approaching him, voice strangled but relieved. He allowed himself to be nudged away from you in his stupor, but even when he realized he wanted to stay near you; to be with you in the ambulance, he was jostled back aggressively. He was about to shout in desperation – he couldn’t let you be wheeled away without him – but his partner’s heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Let ‘em go, son. She’s safe,” Hank told him gruffly. He sniffed as he eyed the commotion. “One of those guys looked at you like you’d murdered his family and keyed his car anyways.” He watched tears spill leisurely from the corners of the android’s eyes as he stared at the doors you’d left through on a stretcher. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around Connor’s body. He was stiff with fear and couldn’t seem to return Hank’s embrace, so the elderly man let go.

“Hey, we did good Connor.” Chris looked shaken; sweat glistened on his forehead and his skin looked a shade paler than normal. He and his family were close with you; no work could keep you from holding and cooing at his baby boy when his wife came to the station with him. He offered Connor a weak smile, patted him on the back, then left for the washrooms.

The jingling of Hank’s keys snapped Connor out of his daze. Without registering the lieutenant’s actual words, he understood that they were going to drive to the hospital you were being transported to. As you had moved to Detroit from another state, you had been without an emergency contact for some time before Hank pretended to reluctantly agree to be yours. He suddenly had reason to be grateful for not having any immediate case related business.

Connor glanced down at your clothing that had been left behind. Only your scarf was untouched and salvageable, but he didn’t feel he could just put your cut tops and bra into a garbage can. Tenderly, he folded the pile into your largest clothing item and tucked it under his arm. He had your intact scarf in his hands – it was the chunky dark grey knit one you wore most often – and he gave into the urge to hold onto it closely. Then, he followed Hank out of the precinct.


	2. Chapter 2

By the fourth day of your cardiac arrest induced coma you were passing all aspects of the neurological examinations that would predict the prognosis of your recovery and awakening. You continued to breathe on your own, your pupils reacted to light, your eye movement was normal and your motor skills were responsive. The fifth day you woke properly; coming around gradually as your awareness of yourself and your surroundings came back into place. Like rousing from a nap that ran too long, your eyes opened; this time fully under your control.

Realization of your unfamiliar situation set in slowly. There was a funny feeling in your nose and throat that you couldn’t quite place and a light mass that hung over your ear. An IV tube with two attachments was taped to the top your right hand and above that your index finger was held in an off-white plastic clamp. A mass of wires escaped from where they adhered to your body under thin, diamond-patterned white fabric and you could feel the cold plastic of a blood pressure cuff secured around your left bicep. A comforting weight rested over your left hand.

Once you tried to take in anything past what you could feel on your body, confusion took hold of you in your vulnerable, drowsy state. Your brain wasn’t ready to piece together the puzzle of your circumstance and you couldn’t understand what was going on. Honeydew green walls, windows immediately to your left _and_ your right and an incessant beeping clashed harshly with your most recent memory. The conflict in your mind caused a fight or flight feeling to spread like wildfire under your skin and when you reacted by trying to curl your hands into fists you remembered the unsolved mystery of your enclosed left hand.

You were shocked to find the RK800 android detective seated to your left, his large hand resting on top of yours, fingers folded under to press against your palm. His LED was its usual calming blue and his eyes rested shut as they would when relaying info to CyberLife. The way his normally orderly brown hair was tousled was quite charming, though you couldn’t understand how he allowed its disarray. It struck you as odd to see him without his glowing CyberLife jacket and though his loosened tie, shoes and white button down were familiar, the lighter jeans and slate grey blazer were new to you. He looked unexpectedly disheveled.

“Connor?” Your voice was weak and hoarse, like it hadn’t been used recently. You frowned and as you tried to clear your throat you were reminded of the odd sensation there. Reflexively, you swallowed and crinkled your nose – something was off at your left nostril – when you felt the mild soreness of your throat.

As soon as Connor heard your voice his eyes snapped open, your name brushing almost breathlessly past his lips. Blue LED twirling into a flashing yellow, he stood from his chair to lean over you as he gripped your hand more firmly and examined you for anything worrying. He reached over your body to uncover an oblong device hidden by the edge of your covers and pressed down on the red button at the top.

“What’s going on?” you rasped out from below the android. You watched, bewildered, as Connor made a sighing noise as he lowered back into his seat and it surprised you further to see the concerned, sympathetic expression that settled over his captivating facial features. Never had you seen him expressing such unbridled emotion. Maybe the quirk of his lips when no one was looking or a brief tension in his brows but nothing like this.

“(Y/N), you’re in the intensive care unit of the hospital. You’ve been in a hypoxic-ischemic coma for five days.” Connor held your wide-eyed gaze for a moment, only continuing after the minuscule nod of your head to go on. “Myself and Officer Miller restarted your heart after sudden cardiac arrest at the precinct. When you remained comatose, you were treated with therapeutic hypothermia for twenty-four hours. Your level of consciousness began to increase slowly after that so it was only a matter of waiting until your body had healed enough to wake.”

“What? But I – how did I even get here? I’m supposed to be caring for my great aunt in Ohio for two months! It’s only been…” You trailed off as you began to encounter only gruesome storm clouds where your memory should’ve been. “I… I got to my aunt’s and I was there for… Shit,” you mumbled to yourself, spirit draining with every word. Your eyes watered as frustration joined your confusion. Though it was minimal, the way Connor brushed his thumb back and forth over your knuckles was soothing; it grounded you just enough to keep your panic from swallowing you whole.

“Memory loss, both long and short term, is a regular occurrence after” – the android faltered for a fraction of second – “the brain has been deprived of oxygen. You did go to care for your aunt and then came home. From what I heard, she is doing well thanks to you. Two days after arriving in Detroit you returned to work at the police department and your heart stopped the morning of your first shift back.”

Overwhelmed, you lay your head back against your pillow and looked up at the ceiling. It was a lot to take in. Aiming to lower the stress that vibrated through your veins you took a deep breath and – your right hand flew up to your chest. Well, it would have had one of your IV lines not been caught on the railing of your bed. You felt a twinge in your hand as its movement was halted and let it drop back down, frightened eyes finding Connor again as if he had the answer to the throbbing pain you had provoked in your chest. Actually, he did.

“You have a fractured sternum.” The android looked guilty; the pitiful, disciplined puppy kind that tugged at your heart. Unable to meet your eyes out of shame, he studied the floor and expressed his fidgety nature through running his hand through his hair and tapping on his thigh. “Five rib fractures. Anterior fractures to ribs two, three and four on the left side of your chest and on your right an anterior fracture to rib four and a lateral fracture to rib five.”

“Yeah, that would explain the pain alright,” you mumbled. Your attempt to follow the comment with a sardonic chuckle was halted by both the soreness in your throat and the pain in your chest. You saw Connor’s eyes sadden even further in a wildly human way and your curiosity peaked. Unfortunately, a lady in turquoise scrubs pushing the door to your room open halted any plans to interrogate Connor on his behaviour. Her entry made you look over and you realized that the “windows” to your right let you see into the hall of the hospital.

After the young nurse did a quick general assessment of your state and vitals, she had Connor leave the room in order to privately take care of the catheter you’d no longer need as you were awake and able to use the toilet yourself.

You learned about the nasoduodenal tube that passed through your nose and down into your small intestine to feed you; it’s what bothered your throat and hung over your ear. Heading into the vein in your hand was a drip for hydration and potassium respectively. She helped you stand to practice a trip to the toilet – you were weak, but the bathroom was close and littered with handrails – and gave you a fresh gown that you could tie in the front. Then, she told you a doctor would be by shortly and exited the room.

You felt tense and restless as you lay on your hospital bed once more. Anxiety stemming from your situation as a whole simmered in your chest, threatening to reach a boiling point as you returned to trying access your fuzzy memories. The muted bustle of the hall started to sound odd, like you were floating away. Tears pricked at your eyes in this dissociative state that was blinding you of your senses; numbing you from the distressing world. You struggled to look towards the door as it opened like the force of an elephant pushed against your movement, but making eye contact with Connor was worth it. Like being unchained from an anchor and letting go of a rising balloon at the same time, your awareness came flowing back. It washed over you gently as the android raised the corners of his mouth into a melancholic smile; it was incredible how calming a familiar, caring presence could be.

“Connor,” you began as he returned to his seat. Needlessly, you flicked your gaze around the room in order to be certain no one was listening in, and lowered your voice to a whisper. Eyes sparkling in anticipation, you asked, “Are you a deviant?”

Your question told Connor that your most recent memories must have been from after arriving at your great aunt’s but before the citizenship of androids had been cemented. Even though the peaceful uprising of the androids had been recognized by the president and the termination camps were halted, it had taken ten days to finally release the legalization of androids as citizens of America. Presently, demands the deviant leader Markus had made were still being fleshed out with those in legislative power. And since Hank had made a drunken celebratory phone call to you about Connor’s freedom to live and resulting permission to stay with the DPD, your memory loss could be narrowed down.

“Yes, (Y/N), I am deviant.” At the raise of your eyebrows, he caught you up to speed.

You gave him a bright smile, properly enthusiastic towards his vitality. “Well, it’s great to see you all woken up, Connor.”

The android’s smile faltered.

“You look very smart out of your CyberLife jacket.”

His expression fell flat, lips pinching into a thin line. He’d heard your exact words prior to your near death. Your positive comments were grim reminders, not compliments.

You tilted your head and furrowed your eyebrows in concern. Had you said something wrong? You wondered if he had regrets surrounding his own deviancy. Maybe it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Your feeding tube decided to irritate your nose at that moment and you suddenly had bigger fish fry: what the hell would happen if you sneezed? You clamped your lips shut, pressed your left index finger against your face above your top lip, and braced for impact.

You limited most of the sneeze’s potential damage with a little of its pressure escaping through your nose, but the action caused pain in your chest nonetheless. Groaning, you dropped your hand back down and tried to relax through slow breaths. Tension only aggravated your pain.

“I did that to you.”

You almost didn’t hear him. You had squeezed your eyes shut and had to pry them back open to gauge Connor’s expression. You wanted to make sense of what he was trying to tell you because at the moment it seemed like nonsense. The agony painted on his face however certainly wasn’t nonsense; it was raw and real and made you want to destroy whatever was causing him to suffer.

“I thought I was applying the perfect amount of pressure while administering CPR. I’m an android; I’m _capable_ of knowing the exact amount of force to exert to reach your heart without hurting you. But I didn’t account for your skeletal weakness; for your bone loss that I could’ve predicted based on your history and other signs I –“

The volume of Connor’s voice ramped up alongside his obvious distress and you tried to cut in during his brief moment of stuttering but he pushed on.

“I broke your bones.” His admission was released from his tense mouth in a staccato rhythm, each word pointed. Then he was softened and subdued as he spoke, “I hurt you. I caused your pain. I’m sorry.”

“If I’m not mistaken, Connor,” you murmured, “you also saved my life. I can live with a few fractures.” His tormented expression relaxed slightly at your forgiving tone. “Besides, I’m pretty sure a couple fractures are practically expected when it comes to CPR.” His eyebrows loosened a little more.

You went to say more to ease the deviant’s distress, but then you noticed his handsome features losing their tension even more. His content demeanor coloured his face once again and his chocolate brown eyes, full of sincerity, took hold of your line of sight. You held the attractive man’s gaze as he took your small hand again in both of his, just happy to be on the receiving end of his beautiful relieved smile.

“Hank will be here shortly.”

The moment shattered after those three words. You held your reaction of a groan back – you hated worrying Hank and knew the old man would probably show his care by chewing you out – when Connor frowned.

“He’s… Lost, somehow,” the android told you, a faraway look on his face as he read messages you couldn’t see in his mechanical brain, “I think he’s describing the entrance of the other side of the building in his text.” Shaking his head, he sighed gently through his nose and stood. “I’ll go find him. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.” Connor flashed one last comforting smile and released your hand. He hesitated for a moment in a seemingly uncertain way, before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. Then he was off and it was just you, your thoughts and the noises of the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we out here really tryin  
hopefully nothing strikes anyone as unrealistic bc i swear on my life so far i havent stretched anything, a case for a 16yo from the NCBI site is my baseline reference (:


	3. Chapter 3

When Connor returned to your door with Hank in tow, he all but collided with a middle-aged man sporting greying hair. A quick facial scan allowed the android to dismiss his worry for your safety when he found the man to be a Dr. Manson Pierce. That, and he wore the classic white lab coat and stethoscope pairing. He let your doctor exit into the hall and then ushered the lieutenant inside.

“Kid,” Hank said, gesturing to you with his arms loosely extended and his palms up. The single syllable was packed with all the emotions the man had a difficult time expressing. Heavy steps took him to your bed and he propped his hands on his hips. “So you finally woke up, huh? I’ve gotta say, this was quite the nap you sprung on us.”

“Yeah, I –” He didn’t let you continue.

“Don’t you _ever_ pull a stunt like that again, you hear me?” Hank’s expression was aggressive; angry, but his voice wavered with the reality of his concern for you. “You… You could’ve fuckin’ _died_ you idiot. I swear to Christ almighty if you ever so much as fuckin’ _think_ of leaving us again I will follow you into the goddamn afterlife myself to kick your ass.” He dropped the hand that he’d raised to wag a finger at you and sighed heavily. “You know what I mean, kid. I’m just glad your dumbass is alright.”

“Don’t have an aneurysm, Pops,” you chastised, “Of course I’m alright. My strength is greater than the both of you combined.”

Hank chuckled at your teasing comments, but Connor noticed you seemed a little off. He considered that you could be tired and in need of rest, but he was certain your spirits were dampened even as you tried to be lively for the lieutenant. He didn’t miss how you withdrew your out of view hands from your right thigh and then wrapped your left hand around your right upper arm. He knew it was a conscious decision when your eyes flicked down to your hand once your fingers reached each other around your bicep, all while chatting with Hank. Connor had done more than enough research on your illness to know that you were assessing the size of your body.

Hank eased into the other chair that sat beneath the windows a little behind Connor’s. You and he exchanged further pleasantries, specifically about your wellbeing, and you were assured that there was nothing job-related to stress about. The elder flinched when you joked word for word about the “grey mop” on his head but let the eerily exact quote slide.

“Anyways, I’ve gotta make like shit and hit the trail; someone’s gotta pick up the slack with this one off work,” Hank grumbled, jerking his thumb at the android in question. He noticed your confusion and added, “The boy’s been glued to your damn side since the whole shebang. Weird about it, too. Did he tell you he even kept your –”

“That’s _enough_, Hank.” The warning came out in a growl though Connor really only looked embarrassed. Red crept over his face, and when Hank snickered devilishly it flooded up to the tips of his ears.

“Fine, you can spill the beans to her yourself,” Hank teased. “I can’t stick around, sorry kiddo, but judging by how well you’re doing after waking up I bet they’ll be tossing you out soon. Uh, if you don’t want to be alone right away or some shit you know you’re welcome to crash at ours – you can share Sumo’s dog bed.” He huffed a laugh through his nose and stood to awkwardly pat your knee. “Almost forgot!”

Connor watched the lieutenant pull the left side of his heavy jacket open to reveal your scarf – the dark grey one with the chunky knit. He’d been holding onto it ever since he’d picked it up off the floor of the bullpen, first just for his fidgety fingers but then more for comfort when he realized it smelled like you. It was hung over the lieutenant’s left shoulder and tucked completely under his coat. When he gave it a tug, the android narrowed his eyes, silently warning the older man to be gentler.

“Look at it Connor; not a splash of rain hit this thing you anal asshole.” Hank lolled his head to his shoulder as he looked at you. “Kid was in such a rush to get back to you earlier that he left it behind. Tried to tell me that if anything happened to it – fucker got all uppity about the rain – he’d never talk to me again. What the fuck kind of threat is that? Sounds like fuckin’ heaven if you ask me!”

With a curious smile, you laughed at Hank’s recount. Then he tossed Connor your scarf and you waved as he shambled out of the room.

Connor felt stiff under your gaze as he decided what he could say to defend his claim over your accessory. It stressed him to imagine explaining how he had committed every thread to memory, how your fading scent on the wool cooled his worry for you when he was away from the hospital. To say that absence made the heart grow stronger would be an understatement for how the android’s feelings had flourished for you during your leave. You returning only to receive a new threat against your presence was harrowing; the android didn’t want to be without you any longer. He lifted his head to look for your confused face but instead found you smiling softly.

“It’s okay, I get it.” You pursed your lips. “Potassium.”

Connor clued in immediately. “Hypokalemia was your leading cause for cardiac arrest.” Suddenly more serious and showing concern he continued, “(Y/N), you had a potassium level of 1.9. Levels below 3.6 are low in general but under 2.5 is life threatening.”

You didn’t have much to show for a reaction. “So I’ve heard.”

Connor fiddled with a loose strand on your scarf, expression pinched as he mulled over his next words. “You can’t” – he rubbed at the back of his head – “you can’t do this to yourself. Given your history –”

“It’s occasional! Okay? I watch what I eat, I know my limits. I can have an eating disorder _and_ function in life, Connor,” you snapped. “Only if things get a little too rough do I… Have to empty my stomach.”

“Things must have gotten particularly _rough_ if you were ‘emptying your stomach’ enough to almost _die_.”

You broke eye contact. “Things started getting bad once I got to my aunt’s but I don’t even remember enough. I must’ve been vomiting like crazy to mess my electrolytes up this badly.”

Tentatively, the android reached for your hand once again, relieved when you didn’t object. Softening his demeanor he asked, “What do you remember?”

“I’ll tell you what: I do _not_ remember being this thin. There’s no way I was keeping anything in me.” You chewed your lip for a moment. “I know I had it in mind to use the time away from work to restrict eating a little more because I wouldn’t be needing as much energy to focus. And my… My mother made a surprise visit a few days in. She is a huge source of stress. I did start purging more when she showed up. I couldn’t keep anything down. I guess I must’ve kept at it.

“You don’t have to worry about me anyways. The doctor said that if I refused to go voluntarily to the eating disorder inpatient unit I’d be certified and made involuntary. I guess it’s assumed I’d go home and just do the whole heart stopping thing again after some time in front of the toilet bowl and that makes me a ‘danger to myself.’ At least it’s only a week or two of stabilization. I’m expected to gain weight and have better blood work, and then I’m free to go. Or transition into the program, or sign myself up for outpatient, or whatever. Point is I’ll be fine.”

Connor couldn’t help the way he perked up upon hearing that you’d be receiving further medical aid. “You’re being moved to the eating disorder unit for stabilization?”

“Unfortunately.”

“That’s great, (Y/N),” Connor breathed, absorbing nothing but how your safety was being impacted so positively. He gripped your hand tighter in his. “There is no safer place than a hospital to rehabilitate you. I am already looking forward to seeing you as you were before you took your leave. I look forward to colour in your cheeks and less frailty in your figure and –“ The android halted in his excited prattle when your eyes began to shine with tears.

Blinking rapidly, you looked up to the ceiling in an attempt to keep yourself from crying. “Yeah,” you muttered, “It’s going to be so _great_.”

“Your safety and wellbeing is worth –”

“I’m expected to eat six times a day _and_ be tube fed, Connor,” you seethed. “I’ll be on complete and total bed rest just because some doctor doesn’t like that I’m living the skinny fucking dream. Wheelchair if I’m going _anywhere_. I can’t even _sit at the table_ with the regular patients. They’re going to burn my veins with magnesium and steal my blood until the whole inside of my elbow is one big bruise and tell me that their garbage options for laxatives will ‘eventually’ work and it won’t matter if I can’t eat something because I’ll just have to drink it or lose the few privileges I have. My metabolism is going to _skyrocket_ and burn up every calorie and I’ll be punished when I lose weight even though it’s out of my control! These people love to play god! I’ll leave crumbs in my tray and they’ll ban visitors from me!” Tears flowed freely now and you snatched back your hand with a tinge of guilt to wipe at your wet cheeks.

“It will be okay, (Y/N).” Connor drew his eyebrows together in concern; it was difficult to see you in such distress. You’d obviously had a less than satisfactory hospital experience before. In his mind, hospital care was an inherently good thing so it was a struggle to see it as you did. Understanding how your illness shaped your mind was no simple feat but he wanted to support you nonetheless.

“No it won’t. Just ten minutes ago I was shocked by my body checks but now I know I’ve achieved a weight I never imagined I’d reach. I can’t even _remember_ the pain I must’ve gone through to get this small and now I’m being forced to throw it all away. I’m being forced to get _fat_.” You spat your words angrily, wishing only that you were in a position to deny treatment. Obviously the acceptance of your current weight wouldn’t last, it never did, but you currently found yourself so appallingly thin that you didn’t hate yourself.

The silence was tense as Connor gathered his thoughts. “(Y/N)… You are the bravest and strongest person I know –“

“You’re forgetting about the tough son of a bitch you live with,” you scoffed.

“While I’ll admit that Hank certainly is an, as you said, ‘tough son of a bitch,’ one thing he lacks is the strength to express his emotions like you do. He rarely shares his fear and distress with me as you are. I think it’s telling of your strength that you can confront your feelings and that you will endure the mental strain your stabilization will cause you.”

He had you there you supposed. “Whatever. Emotions are dumb anyways.”

Connor had to skirt carefully around the thoughts that cropped up about his emotions for you feeling very _not_ dumb. “If not for yourself, (Y/N), think about getting better for Hank and Sumo. For Officer Miller and his family. For me.”

Slowly, you released a sigh and returned your hand to its place next to you. Your pinky brushed against Connor’s right hand that rested on the edge of your mattress. Your wordless request understood, the android’s large fingers encased your hand – still damp with tears – once again.

Connor committed the way his comfort made your features soften and your lips smooth out into a smile to memory. Knowing it was he who affected you in this way and no one else gave his abdomen a funny feeling, like a washing machine during the spin cycle. Though the circumstances were grim, he was mindful of how fortunate he was to have this time to touch you and comfort you and be with you and show that he cared. It would end soon once you returned to work, where he’d see you only occasionally and amidst prying eyes. Filing, answering phones and clerical work weren’t exactly valid reasons to hold your hand either.

All of a sudden a report flashed into the forefront of Connor’s mechanical brain, claiming his attention immediately. Only seconds later a text from Hank came in requesting his partner’s attendance. The action excited him – a double homicide and what seemed like a staged suicide was very intriguing – but leaving you made him feel guilty.

“I just got a case report,” he began hesitantly. “It’s big. I need to be there with Hank.”

“Go on then, don’t let me hold you back.”

Connor blinked. You looked happy for him, not bothered. “Will you be okay?”

“Connor, of course I will. It’s okay, go. I think I’ll be in the unit when you have time for me again.” You trapped your bottom lip between your teeth, brows drawing together in uncertainty. “I mean, if you’d still like to keep visiting me. You don’t have to.”

“I will see you very soon, (Y/N). I want to support you.”

You laughed shyly at the deviant’s blatant statements. “Alright then, be safe. Make sure Hank is looking when you go sticking stuff in your mouth, ‘kay?”

“’Kay,” he mimicked. He stood from his chair, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head as he straightened his legs. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again to say, “Goodbye, (Y/N).” Glancing at you all the way, he left your room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> owo whats this? haha jk  
...unless??  
some folks posting on this site have such a way with words. writing out an idea stuck in my head is satisfying but im all tell the story, use the thesaurus, whats another sentence formula. rewarding to get something down and out of my head but not lovely like some writers. while im out here sharing my thoughts like i didn't just see my therapist a few hours ago, i write with such structure in my eyes. rigidly, correctly, formally. poetry? my poetry has never had a skeleton it just goes and exists with no structure or rhyme or reason - specifically no rhymes haha. funny how things can be... we live in a society man


	4. Chapter 4

Connor visited the eating disorder unit daily. It was hard at first; you were tired and teary confined to your hospital bed. You kept your damp eyes trained on your shaking hands and refused his touch. Save for the sparkle in your eyes he was certain he saw during the first moments of every visit, you were practically unresponsive for the initial few days.

When he did interact with you your struggle with short term memory loss would rear its ugly head. Though your cardiac arrest’s damage was frustrating, it would improve over time and at least memories with emotional impact seemed to stick best. Learning you had forgotten something was upsetting, so the deviant took great care in what he said and how he reacted to your confusion. Thoughtfully, he became very familiar with the line “I must have forgotten to tell you” to shoulder the blame of your memory loss. Androids couldn’t forget but Connor was willing to sacrifice little truths. His drive to support, comfort and aid you in any way he could was overwhelming; he wanted nothing more than for you to feel at ease and to be the one to care for you.

It took time for you to adjust to life on the ward. Privacy was practically nonexistent, you couldn’t lift a pinky without an apprehensive look from your rotating sitters and putting up with psychiatrists, dieticians and occupational therapists was irritating as you had no real plans of recovering. General practitioners just wanted you out to have an available bed but eating disorder specialists? They wanted you to change your life for the better. You weren’t quite in the mood for becoming a poster child for perfect health however and instead missed abusing your body just enough to cope and function. On top of everything, you weren’t ecstatic about weight gain.

The only up to all the downs of your admission was the steadfast RK800 android you saw at least an hour a day. Though a case involving a meticulous serial killer leaving behind no evidence other than their android victims ate up most of Connor’s day, he still made time for you. Occasionally Hank would join him but the grizzled man was understandably not a fan of hospitals. You didn’t mind the lieutenant’s absence; he’d give you this hurting, pitying look as if he felt guilty for your state, and you hated it.

Hank’s worry you could understand; you’d known him long and closely enough to assume he often thought of you as a daughter. With you sick and in the hospital you imagined he felt he played the role of a father who hadn’t been there for his child; a father whose neglect had caused your near death. He was in no way the one to blame for your state. Connor’s worry however was harder to accept. You didn’t even know he looked at you in a way similar to Hank’s until you caught him watching a new patient receiving a tour of the unit - the young girl’s illness had presented itself very clearly in her physical appearance. The android’s features had contorted into a pained look of such sympathy and concern when she passed by your doorway that when he looked back to you and the expression deepened _tenfold_ you had been taken aback.

Connor provided you with more than just his company. He brought you your warm and comfortable clothing; relaxed bottoms, loose tops, soft sweaters. Though still awkward, it was a lot easier to describe the underwear you wanted to Connor rather than Hank. “They look like little shorts,” you’d told the android, trying not to think about how he would then have to go through your underwear drawer. You could also list and describe which toiletries you needed from your home – “I might actually get my period from all this” – and receive exactly what you had asked for with the thoughtful addition of a book or a throw blanket.

He had his own space at Hank’s; his own room and closet and dresser, but Connor didn’t own many personal items. The things he did own were out of necessity, not emotional attachment. The clothing he’d worn while infiltrating Jericho however – when he’d officially become a deviant – were an exception. They had been stored away safely in his closet at Hank’s house for symbolic reasons; his whole world had turned upside down in that outfit. And when the January winter cold pricked at your visible bones but Connor found nothing in your wardrobe to protect your head, he knew he could provide for you.

It was big on you. Connor had to fold the edges up then he had reached down to slide it over your hair himself. He had positioned it over your chilled ears, smoothed it out and then smiled softly, the warmth in his eyes like a spring sun. Hank later explained to you the significance of the grey beanie that kept your head warm and protected your ears. How Connor had become free while wearing it and how it had been stowed away carefully. How it was practically shocking to see it away from its safe place of storage and on your head.

Among other things, Connor learned – while clearing the floor for a Filipino lady with a mop – that if he pushed his chair close at the head of your bed and sat pressed against the side of your mattress, you would scoot over and rest your head on his shoulder. Like this he could press a soft kiss to the top of your head whenever he pleased and, if he wasn’t sitting too straight, tilt his own head to rest against yours. Positioning himself and his seat so that you’d be so near and warm against him quickly became a regular occurrence while he visited. The android considered himself lucky to have discovered this chain of events because little else could quell the irrepressible giddy feelings he felt for you as physical contact did. Connor could find no other words to accurately describe it: he was in love with you.

You didn’t know that you had fallen for your android friend until a day he couldn’t bring you something from home. You had asked for another long sleeve top or two – “I’m cold, but sweating so much my clean laundry can’t keep up!” – and Connor had found himself unable to bring you said clothing. A big, messy crime scene from the serial killer case had taken up most of Connor’s time so instead of losing the last of the day’s visitation hours to the drive to your place, he’d grabbed his own sweatshirt to make up for it.

To stop his string of apologetic words you had shoved your head through Connor’s simple navy hoodie and fumbled with the excessively long sleeves. Swamped in the soft cotton, you couldn’t help but notice how it smelled detergent-clean with a subtle masculine spice; just like the deviant himself. And as Connor stooped down to help free your fingers from the endless sleeves, face close enough to count his eyelashes and see the creases on his lips, the fluttering feeling in your stomach had erupted. Your cheeks had flushed with colour, your lips had parted in surprise and you’d ducked your head as a tingly warmth spread to the tips of your fingers. It was a schoolgirlish, rose-coloured love that you felt beginning to blossom. Like any other with a huge crush would, you kept it to yourself.

The two week mark of your inpatient admission occurred on an eventless day at the police department. The serial killer had been quiet for a few days and a lack of leads left Connor with little he could do to progress the case, so he had more downtime to spend with you. You were certain his mind was always on the investigation though.

“I didn’t make the weight gain requirement again,” you admitted to Connor softly, head resting on his shoulder. You both knew what this meant: you couldn’t be discharged safely and your stay would be extended. The threat of being ill enough to be sectioned if you didn’t stay willingly kept the fight for freedom on the back burner. “Didn’t lose like last week, gained almost two pounds apparently. Feels like ten.”

Body weight was a touchy topic. It was difficult for Connor to know what to say and how to say it; even the tone of his voice could deliver his words in a harmful way. His gaze bounced around the room; from your desk to the window to your sitter who sat far from the bed, near the door with a romance novel, as he considered his options for replying. “The human body is a complicated machine,” he settled on, “and the way the average metabolism reacts to a sudden increase in nutrients certainly makes weight gain difficult. How does this make you feel?”

Torn, you fiddled with the tape securing your feeding tube to your cheek and frowned. “I don’t know. I’m being punished for something I can’t even control. They look at me like I’m doing something to prevent gaining. Um, hello, I’m watched around the clock; can’t exactly do crunches or run on the spot with eyes on me,” you said bitterly. “I mean yeah of course I’m glad I didn’t put on more, I don’t actually _want_ to be fat, but it’s not my fault that I can’t.”

As he always did when the word in question came up, Connor murmured, “By definition, you are not fat. You are severely and dangerously underweight. You will not be fat after four pounds; you will not be fat after forty pounds. Being so is not a bad thing and does not make you any less beautiful than –”

“Yeah, yeah,” you cut in. “You keep saying that like I’ll actually believe it.”

“That is the goal, yes.” The conversation’s tone called for affection, Connor decided, so he turned his head to press his lips against the fabric of his beanie. He preferred to make direct physical contact with you but with your head warm under his hat he’d have to put up with it. You sniffled as he did so and his mechanical heart ached; he wished he could gather up all your sadness and lock it up for its offenses like a criminal. “What are you thinking about?”

The corners of your lips quirked up when Connor asked a question you heard often; he liked to know what was going on in your mind. You were quiet for a beat as you sorted through your thoughts. “I’m thinking about… I’m thinking that I’ve just got to become well enough to discharge myself without there being enough reason to make me involuntary. That all I have to do is meet a few requirements, then I can bounce when they don’t have enough grounds to section me.” You huffed, frustrated. “My blood labs continue to be garbage but at least my potassium and magnesium levels look better.”

Connor pursed his lips, brow creased in a light frown. He knew of your plan to check out based on your ability to and not the state of your mental and physical health, but he didn’t particularly like it. He cared deeply for you so it was no surprise he wished that you had to stay until you were in perfect health or that you would choose to recover. As the android mulled over how he could change your mind, you spoke again.

“One of the ladies who babysits me said that everyone gives me ‘the look.’” You angled your head just enough to see Connor’s curious expression. “Yeah that’s the face I gave her too. She said they all give me a certain look that only some patients get. Said she only brought it up because it weirds her out; she’s all religious and sees it as an ‘omen of death.’”

Connor flinched beneath you, enough to cause you to lift your head and meet his eyes with an eyebrow raised in question. The LED on his temple swapped its calm blue out for yellow, blinked red, then settled back on a flashing yellow. Before he could comment you continued.

“Now don’t look at me like that! It’s only because patients getting this whole ‘the look’ usually don’t live for much longer. The much older woman before me was a ‘the look’ receiver and she didn’t last long. It’s all just conspiracy theory mumbo jumbo though; don’t you worry your pretty little head! It was just an odd thing to be told. Like, as if _I’m_ sick enough for it.”

The android already worried about you around the clock so learning that experts on your disease behaved as if you were close to death did nothing to ease his concern. Logically, a “look” was not evidence or proof of your wellbeing. But if a person became familiar enough with disorder-related death, recognizing its signs was a possibility. Connor had to firmly remind himself that a professional’s experience with death didn’t predict your own; he wasn’t going to lose you. LED returning to normal, he released the tension he’d been holding in his chest and brought his attention to your last words.

“You are severely ill, (Y/N).”

“I don’t know… I’m not, like, dying right now so… And I see the tiny guys and girls who go past my room, _they_ look like they belong in my place; I’m not sick and skinny like _them_,” you reasoned. Recognizing your severity was halted partly by refusal and partly by inability to see yourself for what you truly were. You could talk and think and breathe and walk (with permission) so how could you be anything other than perfectly fine? You’d even pulled through with few repercussions from cardiac arrest; surviving that could only mean your body was able and strong. A heavy thought throbbed in your brain: if you could survive near death, you must not actually be that sick.

“(Y/N),” Connor said, voice wavering, “that statement is not accurate.”

You clenched your jaw, parted your lips and audibly sucked air in through your teeth. “Didn’t really mean to say that last near death thought out loud.”

“Your survival was based on how quickly your heart was restarted, not…” He cut his sentence short to sigh harshly. “I understand it’s difficult for you to see it, but you are very ill and very deserving and in need of medical care no matter how you may feel currently. Your bulimia caused a fluctuation in your electrolytes so severe that your heart stopped. Many of your blood work results fall in abnormal and dangerous ranges, specifically your electrolytes, glucose and liver enzymes. You weigh too little for your body to function properly, including heating itself, and its acute starvation caused even the muscle of your heart to be used for nutrients. The state of your esophagus is concerning enough for an endoscopy to have been ordered so that a biopsy may determine the presence of precancerous cells. I’d appreciate it if you would keep my accessing of your medical files between us. It can be your apology for withholding your potential _cancer_.”

You listened as his voice went from soft to even to cold. “I was going to tell you after the results came back negative, because they will,” you mumbled defensively. “As for my medical info –”

“I don’t want to hear it, (Y/N)!” Connor was loud; too loud. Again, his LED skipped through its colour choices to mirror his distress with a brief flash of red. He dragged a hand down his face. “Just trust me. Just trust what I tell you. You know you can’t trust your own mind in your state; you know this in the logical part of your brain. So trust my mind instead, at least for now. And just try to understand how scared I am for you.”

You scrunched your lips to one side, chewing on the inside of your mouth. Guilt from knowing that your own actions were affecting Connor made it impossible to meet his eyes. You felt like such a burden just because you couldn’t commit to caring for your health like any normal person would. The usual blame you put on yourself flared up, inner voice spitting that being sick and refusing recovery made you selfish and inconsiderate. You didn’t have a disease; you were _choosing_ to be this way; _choosing_ to be disordered and suffer.

“(Y/N), stop.” Connor was good with expressions. He could easily detect your emotions and estimate your thoughts as your features shifted and pinched in familiar ways. He knew you were most likely torturing yourself with unfair thoughts. Gently, he took your sharp chin in his hand and turned your shiny-eyed face to his. A report relating to the serial killer case came in as he looked at your dejected expression, but he knew it could wait just a few more moments.

“Connor…”

The deviant laid a kiss on your forehead as an apology tumbled past your dry lips. He lingered there, nose against the knit fabric of his beanie, and when he pulled back he could see the ghost of a smile on your face. “I must go now, but I will return to you very soon. And with another book as I noticed you’re nearing the end of your current novel.”

Your eyebrows twitched up at the promise of a new book. You worked through them at a fraction of your regular reading speed but the pastime exercised your short term memory. Smile widening, you spoke, “I’d like that.” You let yourself be folded into the android’s strong embrace, and he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay but imagine having someone so available and caring so much while in hospital like that would've been kind of epic?? we all had different opinions on nurses so not everyone could talk shit and bond over disliking staff but a visitor wouldn't know any better heheheheh


	5. Chapter 5

You were three and a half weeks into your admission when Connor practically skidded into your room on the inpatient unit one rainy day. You’d never seen him so visibly cheerful, and in his rush he’d left Hank to trail after him. You closed a bookmark up in your novel and set it aside as the android’s long strides brought him to tower over your bed.

Your name glided from Connor’s mouth, coated in a tone of relief and enthusiasm as he leaned down to your level. He reached a large hand out to your ear and smoothed out a fold in the beanie snug on your head. Satisfied, his hand slid down to cup where your jaw met your neck. His launch into enthusiastic chatter left you no room to focus on how he chose to hold your face so tenderly.

“You said we’d do it, and we did it, (Y/N),” he said, “Everyone has a pattern. So we arrived first and met him head on. Captain Fowler thought my idea and reasoning was unsubstantiated, but our success made him rescind his comments of disapproval! I even practiced making intuition-based decisions and benefited greatly. I feel” – his free hand mirrored the first and came to rest on the opposite side of your face – “an overwhelming sense of pride.”

You blinked as the android beamed at you, his hands cupped so gently against your cheeks while his body was taut with excitement. There was a second of silence before you realized he was waiting for you to react, so you mirrored his expression and grinned back. This seemed to be the permission Connor was waiting for because his smile widened, his hold on you tightened and he swooped in to pepper kisses on your face. The force, though not harmful in any way, of each glee-fueled peck to your cheeks and forehead would’ve pushed you back had he not been holding your head.

“Wait, wait!” you spluttered, giggling at Connor’s brilliantly unforced and human actions. You set your hands on his shoulders but his assault continued for another moment, evoking more of your tinkling laughter, before he pulled back after one last tap to your nose. “I don’t even know what you’ve done!”

“Kid nabbed the fucker who’s been taking out androids on the reg’, that’s what.”

Cheeks flushed from the intense display of affection, you peeked around Connor to spot the source of the gruff voice. Hank was giving your current sitter by the doorway, her nose in a book, an awkward nod. In his hands, hovering in front of a tacky paisley button down, was a dark green container holding what looked like moist, healthy soil. The man looked downright uncomfortable but he shuffled in nonetheless and stopped at the foot of your bed. An eyebrow was raised to complete his inquisitive expression as he looked between his partner and you.

During the lieutenant’s journey closer, Connor released your face and straightened himself. The childish glee he’d had on display tapered off to an easygoing pride with a dash of smugness. “Yes, sorry (Y/N), the now infamous serial killer who was hunting androids has been successfully apprehended. I can’t say I’m surprised. As I’ve said before: he had to make a mistake eventually.”

“Oh so now you’re humble, huh? Fuckin’ android,” Hank scoffed. “Did ya tell her what happened?”

Connor’s eyebrows pulsed into a momentary frown as he narrowed his eyes at the lieutenant. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hank.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” He turned to you as he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, so obviously the kid’s predicted the whole slimy rat’s morning down to a T; he’s about to show at a warehouse out in the middle of buttfuck nowhere,” he began, animated gestures causing bits of dirt to leap out of the green container. “The fucker gets there and pulls out a gun – because suddenly he has one that doesn’t match his M.O. at all – and just starts fuckin’ firing like a couple dead officers will shorten his jail time. Connor’s brain goes Matrix mode and sees an officer about to literally bite the bullet so he takes the hit in his shoulder like a real hero. Christ, I just about had a fuckin’ heart attack.”

Batting your wide eyes, your head swiveled to look back over at Connor. Your jaw slackened as you stared up at him in shock. “Are you crazy? What if you had died?”

Hank echoed your sentiments and chirped, “Yeah, what the fuck do you think I said to him?”

Connor remained collected but a hint of vexation at his friends’ dramatic worry showed on his face. “I’m not crazy, just aware that I am a _machine._ I can withstand greater damage than a human would, and my recovery is almost immediate if my vital biocomponents remain intact. The officer would not have survived and by preconstructing and examining possible scenarios I was able to purposefully take damage that would both save the officer and not hinder my abilities. I’m at a loss as to how either of you are so concerned with my wellbeing when I’m not limited like humans. Hank, (Y/N); you are _fragile._ Human life is unique and important; I however was manufactured and previously could be replaced. My artificial life is of lesser value.”

“We’re concerned because we _care_, dumbass.” Hank just about lost every bit of soil to the floor in an exasperated gesture – as in; he tried to facepalm while holding it.

The sadness and sympathy you felt upon Connor speaking lowly of himself manifested itself in a loving, sorrowful tone. Unrestrained, a term of endearment slipped out as you spoke, “Oh, sweetheart. No life is worth more than yours. The you that you are right now is unique; the personality you’ve developed can’t just be replaced, okay? The idea of you dying is worrying so that’s what we’ll do; worry. Because like Hank said, we care. Just don’t put yourself in situations that are too risky, alright? The goal is to not get hurt. We just don’t want to lose you.”

Connor frowned, LED spinning yellow. He didn’t mind that he could sacrifice himself and sustain minor damages if it meant preserving a human’s life. “That might affect my priorities –”

“Does this plastic asshole? Just? Not get it?” Hank raised a hand to point menacingly at the android. “Listen: if you die, we hurt. Got that? There’s only one of you. You get yourself killed and kid in the bed” – he pointed at you, then himself – “and old man with the plant are done for.”

As if the lieutenant had found the magic words, realization and then understanding showed prominently on his partner’s face. “Ah, I do not wish to cause pain for either of you.” He smiled fondly at you and took your hand from where it rested over your knee.

Hank rolled his eyes. “Speaking of ‘man with the plant,’” he said as he lumbered nearer to the bedside table positioned below the window. He placed the pine green container atop it in a space away from a binder and some stray papers. It was plastic and sat in a much shorter, tray-like square container that looked like it could double as a lid. “Connor says it’ll start sprouting at any moment.”

Connor sensed the questions in your bemused look. “It’s customary to gift flowers to those in the hospital. But with your length of stay, the death of a bouquet might be depressing, so I wanted to gift you something alive that would stay that way. Caring for something like a plant could also serve as a positive task while you are hospitalized. I could have purchased something similar to Hank’s Japanese Maple Bonsai or a succulent but…”

Hank huffed when his partner glanced at him but nodded in encouragement. His exasperated gesture seemed to reassure the android because he faced you again.

“I wanted to make something for you myself. So with all this in mind, I enlisted Hank’s help to grow a sunflower as he’d done so once before in elementary school. He was quite useless but thankfully there were instructions with the seeds.”

Faintly, Hank muttered, “Useless my ass, you fuckin’ toaster.”

“Life is beautiful, as they say; I think it will be nice to watch a flower being born, essentially. And since I planted it and you will care for it… It’s like it’s both of ours. I hope.” Connor swallowed needlessly. “It could be something to bond over. We could have this plant together.”

The intended significance of caring for life with Connor went over your head; you had stopped listening once the deviant had expressed his desire to make something for you himself. The fact that the sunflower was expected to break through the soil soon meant that Connor had been planning this for at least a week, something you didn’t miss. Willing your eyes not to water at the incredibly sweet gesture, you tugged him down by the hand he held to thank him with a hug. “Thank you, I love it, I will take good care of it.”

Hank pretended to gag as he returned to the foot of your bed. “Quit it with the lovey-dovey crap, I’m gonna hurl. And for the record, I was not useless; I’ll have you know that I played the role of moral support quite well.”

“I’m sure you did,” you said lightly. You and Connor parted so he could take his usual spot in the chair at the head of your bed. You decided to let the ‘lovey-dovey’ comment slide for the time being, you knew the greying man would only tease you further. “Thank you. And thank you for coming to visit me, Hank, I know you hate being here but I really appreciate it. But how come you’re here instead of the precinct?”

“Visiting is nothing, kid. That creep’s waiting on a lawyer. Some fancy one that’s flying in, so until then we’re twiddling our damn thumbs and trying to find foolproof evidence to pin him to the crime no question. Crime scenes have been so fuckin’ spotless it’s almost a shock he’s human. Some people are just absolute wackos I guess.”

“You got that right,” you agreed.

“What about you, have you been doing alright, kid?”

You smiled tightly as distressed thoughts relating to food, weight gain and other admission things swarmed your mind first. “As alright as I can be. Chris’s wife came to see me a while ago with her little boy, that was nice. I can walk around a lot more often than before; I look through the books and the DVDs, and use the computers. I’ve been allowed to go with the spiritual therapist to the indoor green space a couple times. Best part is I can now go to the table for the meal times with all the other patients here. We play the radio and chat, and sometimes do origami or trivia at the end.”

“I hope the others treat you well.”

You nodded earnestly; you liked making friends with the other patients. Then, there was a bout of silence before Hank clapped his hands together.

“Alright! I’m off like a prom dress, I’ll leave the two of you –”

“(Y/N)?”


	6. Chapter 6

“(Y/N)?” The voice was shrill with a layer of concern. “Oh (Y/N), dear, look at you.”

Connor made quick work of the voice’s identity with a facial identification scan. The willowy woman with chin-length auburn hair, telltale signs of plastic surgery and tall, clicking pumps was in fact your mother. Previously an accomplished model for the now bankrupt “Victoria’s Secret” company, your new visitor was currently co-owner to the esteemed “(L/N)’s” clothing line she’d established with your father. Fleeting wonder as to what secret Victoria was keeping passed through his mind.

While probing what came up with a search of your mother’s name, Connor learned of a recent lawsuit related to the handling of her company’s models that was settled before reaching trial. His LED rotated in yellow as he noted plenty of scandals, and he was also reminded of the brother he’d never heard you speak about. Sifting deeper, he learned of a report to Child Protective Services from over a decade ago that had no consequences other than negative press as it was leaked online, alongside some very personal _unclothed_ photos of your mother.

The new woman breezed in through the doorway, disregarding all but you, hair bobbing with her steps. Her face had a heavy coat of makeup masking her true age and her mouth sported obvious lip fillers. Professional attire of a black pencil skirt and a wine-coloured blouse made her seem like anything but a mother visiting her daughter.

“Mom?” you stuttered, “What are you doing here?”

Theatrically, the woman pressed her palm to her chest, mouth agape with a gasp. “Why, you’re here, in the hospital! Of course a mother should see her daughter under such circumstances!”

You nodded but couldn’t turn your uncomfortable grimace into a proper smile. Caring behavior from your mother was unusual, making it difficult to find sincerity in her words. But motherly love was something you’d always been wishing for when you were younger; it was your weakness, like giving in to a chocolate craving when low blood sugar made you crazy. You often couldn’t help but fall under her spell on the occasions your mother dangled that love in front of your eyes.

The entire room seemed on edge – besides your sitter, an android this time, who was engrossed in a Stephen King novel – as your mother’s visit was unexpected. You didn’t exactly jump at the chance to talk about your relationships with your family. The most Hank and Connor knew was that she had been a precipitating factor in the worsening of your eating disorder, and that she’d waited an entire month to show up for her own child. Not that you had wanted her to.

“You’re looking well, dear.”

You frowned. Were you? You_ had_ gained an entire five pounds in the last couple weeks, but if you were going by Connor’s insight on what your body dysmorphia kept you from seeing and Hank’s sad looks, then you _weren’t_ looking well. An odd memory nudged up into your mind.

_“That dress is lovely on you, little one,” your mother said as she swept you up into her arms with ease. _

_“Thanks Momma! I like being little ‘cause you can still pick me up.” You squealed as your mother held you tightly and spun around._

_“You’re my little girl, and maybe if you stay nice and small like this you can even be one of the pretty models for Momma’s and Daddy’s store.”_

_“Really?” You looked up into your mother’s face in awe._

_“You’d make me so proud if you became a model just like me.”_

_“I’m gonna stay real little for you, Momma. We can wear pretty dresses and be famous together!”_

“Much too beautiful to be stuck in a hospital, wouldn’t you say?”

You snapped back to the present. Your mother’s light tone and smile seemed genuine. Without thinking, you donned a content expression in return, mouth spreading further when she came close enough to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. Her hands, softened by years of applying cream, took hold of yours as she looked, for all intents and purposes, lovingly at you. Not questioning how she knew you’d been hospitalized or why she waited so long to see you, you ate up the sudden care you were being shown like you were starved of it. And from your mother, you were.

Eyes becoming damp, you murmured your thanks as if speaking any louder would shatter the moment like a mirage. The last time you’d received such praise was when you were too young to truly be affected by it.

In a voice less sincere and more falsely nice, the older woman looked back at Hank and said, “Now if you’ll excuse us, I’d prefer it if you wouldn’t hover and listen in. It’s quite rude.”

Hank scratched his beard as he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Uh, right. We’ll get out of your hair then.” He looked at his partner and nodded his head towards the door. “We’ll see you later kid, take care.”

As Connor stood from his seat, your mother sidled further down your bed, effectively shielding you from the android. He wished to at least make eye contact with you, but you were downright mesmerized by the woman as she stroked your hair, and he didn’t wish to come between the two of you. Silently, he joined the lieutenant in the hallway.

“Something’s not right about that woman,” Hank mused. “Listen kid, I gotta get going but you don’t; mind sticking around for a little _espionage?_ Just, you know, make sure she’s okay during this surprise visit. I mean, where the fuck was this lady a month ago?”

A wry expression captured Connor’s features. “If that woman perpetrated (Y/N)’s near death as much as it seems she has, her return could cause further damage. I will stand by in case I am needed and will join you later at the precinct.”

“Sounds good, son.”

Back in your room, things changed for the worse.

Your mother released your hands like they burned her. “Who was that sewer vagrant? If it were possible I’d say he looked like he had fleas. You should feel ashamed being around the likes of people below our family.”

You blinked in utter shock. Your mother had flipped like a switch. Her previously smooth forehead was creased and her lip curled in disgust. She felt around in the purse on her shoulder to pull out a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer and dispensed a considerable amount onto her palm.

“Anyways, your brother wants to go to film school, so I need you to care for my sister again. We can’t just buy an android anymore so the cost of a caretaker and in-home doctor visits is ridiculous! We’d be saving a fortune if you came back to look after her. Yes, we could continue to hire a care aid, but company money is running thin as we expand our business overseas, and your father and I are also looking to buy a yacht.” Her hushed, patronizing voice was sugar-sweet. “Dear, you’re smart; you know these purchases add up.”

“I – _What?” _Absolutely appalled, you tried to look pointedly at your bed, at the room, at the formula that flowed into your nasogastric tube, at the feeding pump that hummed softly. You looked back to your mother as your mouth moved but no words formed. Your eyes were wild; did she expect you to just leave and do as she asked? Did she expect you to abandon your job and your life simply because she wanted a _boat? _

“Oh, so you agreed to help the first time but not again? How selfish of you.”

“I wasn’t helping _you;_ I was helping my _great aunt_. I can’t go anywhere anyways.”

She scoffed, bob bouncing around her displeased expression. “You’ve been pulling this little stunt of yours for years. We get it; you want attention, you want to be sick and special. It’s _annoying._ Couldn’t you have at least stuck with the pretty disorder? The ones that just don’t eat are delicate and fragile; who wouldn’t want to be beautifully sick? But no; you had to disgrace our family further by picking the ugly one. You _owe _us; do you know how much of our food you wasted throwing it back up? Stop running from the family who raised you and fed you and gave you a roof to live under, ungrateful child.”

The anger and defiance that had been growing was washed away by a tidal wave of hurt. Shattered by her words, tears began to flow freely as you emitted a painful, breathless sob. It was decidedly uncomfortable to cry with a tube down your throat but your emotions couldn’t be reined in. Your mother wouldn’t lie to you, she was your mom. You absorbed her quietly spat remarks like you’d never heard anything more true. You were wasteful, ugly, annoying; you wept, overwhelmed by those thoughts and your failure as a daughter. It didn’t matter that she came to you like this every couple of years to instill guilt and demand favors; she was your mother and still had some of your trust.

“Is there a problem here, Ma’am?”

“Excuse me?” your mother barked, spinning away from you.

Through tear-blurred vision you could see that Connor had returned and stood near the doorway. You noticed your mother’s narrowed eyes and pensive expression; she was not an android ally and still believed they should bow down and work for humans.

“No,” the older woman said slowly, “there’s no problem. I was just… offering an incredibly charitable window of opportunity to my daughter. You see my husband and I own the reputable clothing brand ‘(L/N)’s’ and we’d love for our beautiful daughter to model with the other young women. I can offer her a path to fame and an attractive salary that others would beg for simply because she is my child. I’m only looking out for her needs in her difficult time.”

For some reason, your mother’s spiel made Connor hesitate; made him think. He felt the familiar tightness in his chest when your heaving breaths became the only sound in the room for a moment. He wondered if he was wrong to interrupt and that he might be hindering your chances at a career that not many could achieve, especially for humans. He hadn’t liked a single word your mother had said prior to his entry, but he understood the concept of sacrifice and didn’t want to take away such an opportunity for you. “(L/N)’s” catered successfully to teenagers and young adults and though it seemed oddly targeted at individuals who had less excess body weight, it rivaled other brands. You certainly could lead a life of fame and wealth through your family’s company.

“See, dear? Even an android recognizes opportunity. I don’t want you to turn me down like you have in the past. This time I want you to accept my generosity.” Gone was the angry, whispering version of your mother. She stared down at your tear-streaked face, piercing eyes examining you with disdain. “You’ll have to see the doctor who’s done my work. I didn’t think it was possible but your face is even wider than last time I saw you; that can’t all be from puking. He could tweak your nose and pamper that chin; if we got you all fixed up you could even be the new face of the company!”

Connor’s stupor caused by your potential future success was shaken off when your mother began her verbal assault on your appearance. But again he hesitated; humans wanted to be beautiful. They regularly made changes to themselves to get closer to their idea of perfect, attract partners and have more power in the workplace. You were… You were breathtaking to Connor, and that was saying a lot considering he had no real need for breathing. But if altering your appearance surgically would make you happier with yourself, he would certainly support you.

“Your body is exactly what we are looking for, dear.”

Connor frowned, that didn’t seem right. He glanced down at your uncertain-looking sitter who had finally pulled herself from her book. The KL900 android – a fitting model for the ward – stood warily from her chair.

“You are who we want to see shopping at our stores, not whales with no self-control,” the older woman scoffed. “Big women are vile. You, my dear, are beautiful. Not one of our models rivals your delicate thinness; I myself am jealous.”

Connor’s eyes widened; how could this woman think her comments were appropriate? That they would have positive impact on you? The words coming from your mother were not ones you should be hearing.

Sighing, your mother pinched at your arm. “You’re on the cusp of being too big; a couple more pounds and you certainly wouldn’t be worthy of being the face of the company. But that won’t be an issue when you have your whole eating disorder trick to keep you as my little girl. My status might be able to get you out of here; you should at least be transferred somewhere more suited for a family of our class.”

“_No._” Connor’s deep voice was firm and insistent.

“Are you, an _android,_ seriously questioning a human?”

Connor eyed you tentatively. Your bottom lip was clamped between your teeth, your hands trembled and you were looking at your arm where your mother’s hand had been. Resolute, he stood straighter and faced your mother. As a machine, he would’ve been incapable of the action he wished to take, but now he was free to look out for you; to decide what was best for you when you could not.

“You’re an abomination; this is a workplace and yet you dress so unprofessionally and intrude on the personal affairs of patients. I might have to take a complaint of your work ethic up with your superiors.”

“I do not work here; I’m here for your daughter, in the way you haven’t been for this past month. I’m going to have to ask that you please leave,” Connor said evenly.

“Why, you –”

“Whoa, no, this is totally inappropriate and it’s my fault for not stepping in sooner. You’ve distressed my patient enough, Ma’am; please go before I call security, which I will do because you’re disrupting this therapeutic environment like crazy.” Your sitter held a hand up, open palm facing your mother in a gesture to stop. Her eyebrows were raised in disbelief, genuinely shocked at the uninvited woman’s behavior. She pointed aggressively at the door.

“I will not take orders from androids,” your mother spat, but apprehension tainted her venomous tone.

“Maybe not, but you will from security” – she reached for a device hanging around her neck – “when they physically drag you from the unit.”

“Fine!” She spun back around to you. “If the press learns of my daughter’s pathetic little _event_ here, you’ll be owing me more than an easy path to fame.” Heels clicking loudly, your mother stormed out of the room. Even when furious her movements were runway ready.

“Damn,” said your sitter as she shook her head incredulously. She watched you release a muted sob into your hands. “I’ll go get a nurse.”

Connor’s hand shot out to stop the KL900. “Wait. Let me see to her first.” He wanted to be there for you; care for you. “Please?” When she reluctantly nodded, he released the air he’d been holding captive in his artificial lungs. So as not to startle you in your hurting, fragile state, he trod slowly back to your bedside.

You sniffed and released a shuddering breath. Your eyes were glassy as they stared lifelessly into the hall your mother had used to exit the ward. The woman never failed to leave you in such a state. Though profitless, you wondered as you often did what had made your mother become who she was. Was it the hardships of fame? The pressure to be perfect? The poor parenting from her own childhood? Maybe it was that you were unexpected; that you had been the downfall of her career as her body changed to accommodate a baby. Maybe it was that you refused to follow in her footsteps and make her proud. Or perhaps you were better off not knowing.

Connor said your name, deep voice soothing and soft. His legs supported him as he perched on the edge of the bed next to you. Your wide teary eyes flicked up to him and he asked, “May I hold you?”

Not trusting your voice, you nodded and let the android dwarf you with his embrace. For a moment your whole world was him; his warmth, his firm grip, his comforting detergent-spice scent. His hand held your head to his chest briefly; gently, before moving down to stroke your back. You felt a small, familiar circle of pressure come and go against the beanie over your hair as Connor kissed the top of your head. Unfortunately, your impending unravelling came after the sweet gesture.

“She’s right,” you gasped out as fresh wave of tears spilled from your eyes. “I can’t be the daughter she wants. I’m – This – What I’m _doing_ – I’m ugly. Disgusting. _Choosing_ to be sick and gross and wasteful and…” You choked on your words as an almost hysterical sob escaped your attempts to contain it. You were soaking Connor’s shirt; his pristine, wrinkle-free, white button down, but he made no move to express displeasure.

“No,” Connor said, urgent and certain. “You have a mental illness. You don’t choose to be ill; you have a disease. And that doesn’t make you ugly, it makes you human. It makes you have to fight a little harder than others.” He wished he knew the perfect words to chase away how you trembled in his arms. He settled for rocking you at an unhurried pace, applying any measures of comfort he could fulfill in the moment.

“She’s always wanted me to work for her,” you murmured once you had calmed down enough to speak. Each inhale was shaky and you still relied on Connor’s touch to ground you but you were much more at ease. “Her models never stay long. The diet and body rules are crazy and not very humane but contracts help keep the rules quiet. It always comes to either letting the girl walk or risk exposing how she runs them. If I, the daughter of one of the owners, started working in a position getting lots of backlash it would do a lot for the company’s image, especially after the lawsuit from a little while ago. And well… If my mother could only hire girls with health issues or eating disorders, she would. Anything to preserve her ideals surrounding women’s bodies. Sick me fits the bill.”

Connor hummed to acknowledge you, intrigued but subduing his immense disgust towards your mother in favour of keeping you calm. “Would I be wrong in assuming the model behind the lawsuit must have received a generous amount of money to stay silent?”

“Definitely not wrong. A lot of company money goes to payments like that.” You slid your head against the android’s chest to look up at him. You felt your wet eyelashes brush the skin below your eyebrows as you were captured by his stare. Somehow his doe-eyed gaze was both tender and intense at once; curious but fierce.

“Your nose suits the dimensions of your face flawlessly. Your chin is shaped appropriately and its proportions flatter your features. Your face is in no way wider than the average human’s, though I predict it will decrease in size at least another centimeter as the swelling of your glands diminishes completely and recovery edema fades. With weight gain your face will remain relatively the same size but your chin will soften and your cheeks will fill in youthfully. I’m not sure how your mother was unable to see that, but I can assure you that you are not by any means unattractive. You are ineliminably beautiful.”

Your eyes watered all over again. Or maybe they’d never dried. Connor’s compliments weren’t believable; you couldn’t take his opinion to heart with your self-esteem so low. But it was flattering nonetheless and certainly something you needed to hear at the time. “You still use all those big words.”

Connor’s brown eyes darted away as if shameful. “I’m sorry, I could –”

“No, gosh no, I like you just the way you are.” Your smile was a little wobbly but the android copied your sentiment still. His lips were so close as you looked up and he looked down, only inches away. Even-toned, symmetrical and very tempting, especially in the afterglow of his praise for your appearance. You tucked that temptation deep down where it couldn’t be used to destroy your friendship or put you on a path of rejection.

Instead of feeling pinched, Connor’s chest felt inflated; swelling with the pride he felt in being the one to calm you down. No experienced nurse needed, you only needed him to care for you and comfort you. He’d taken charge for you when you couldn’t in a way that brought him back to his very first interrogation with a stressed deviant.

He moved the hand on your back to your cheek and caught a tear with the pad of his thumb, aware of the way your lips parted at his touch. If his feelings were reciprocated, this is when he would kiss you, right? He didn’t know much in the way of relationships and more intimate acts of affection but he’d certainly _like_ to kiss you. Though not when you were in such an emotionally vulnerable state. He wouldn’t take advantage of you. He opted to softly kiss your forehead instead.

“Alright, I don’t want to get shit you guys; off the bed before a nurse sees,” your sitter interrupted good-naturedly. She didn’t spare a second glance before her nose was back in her book.

Reluctantly, Connor withdrew his arms from around you and reclaimed the seat by your bed so the two of you could still sit close. As expected, your head set up camp on his shoulder and the android slouched down enough to rest his own head against yours. You fumbled around for his hand until your small hand was nestled in his grasp, sighing contentedly from the contact. It was only a few comfortable minutes before a new interruption.

“Hey Walking Dead, don’t know who that woman was that just left but she seemed like a bitch with a capital B. Also her lip fillers were horrid, like how do you fuck up so badly?”

You raised your head from Connor’s shoulder to look at the patient hovering in your doorway, abiding by the no entry rule, properly. She laughed at her observation of your mother and you couldn’t help but smile. “Hey Lila. That was just my mother but… You’re right.” Then you mockingly pushed your lips out like a duck’s bill and both of you dissolved into giggles.

Lila was the same age as you. Your place at the meal table was next to her and she was often making comments that cracked you up as you ate. Polyester and spandex were her closest friends; she was never seen wearing anything other than skin tight leggings and other athletic clothing. Exercise addiction was the vice that brought her to the inpatient program and it showed on her body. Had her face not given away that she was suffering you would’ve looked at her bulging calf muscles, sculpted shoulders and the outline of her toned abs and assumed she was healthier than most of the world. But she wasn’t rail thin because she ran track and she wasn’t strong in a mindful way; her obsessive habits stemmed from disordered thoughts.

“You’re kinda funny sometimes Walking Dead, I like that,” Lila said once her laughter had died down.

Connor didn’t like hearing your nickname. You didn’t deserve to be called something so dark and cruel. _You weren’t dying. _He narrowed his eyes and parroted, “Walking Dead?”

“Oh, Connor, it’s okay it’s –”

“Hey don’t sweat it pal she’s cool with it, just a joke. Folks that come through here as emergency admissions looking like her tend to have an early expiry date. Besides, you would know: she _did_ look half dead when she was first wheeled in here,” Lila interrupted in an easygoing tone.

Connor pursed his lips. If you were okay with it, he’d have to let it go. He nodded but made no further comment.

“Anyways, we convinced the nurses to let you come to the group therapy after dinner tonight because it’s movie night. We couldn’t decide between three movies so we thought you could choose since it’s your first time. Or you could pick something else or whatever, it’s your time to shine.”

You lit up at the idea. “Really? Thank you! I’ll have to thank the others later, I totally want to go to the group with you guys.” You looked at Connor with an excited smile then back to Lila. “This is so thoughtful, thank you.”

“It was nothing. Jess and Nigel are both out on passes so that means more couches for us. It’ll be nice to talk shit with someone my age.” Lila raised her hands and snapped them into two finger guns, her usual smirk on her lips. “I’ll leave you and your boyfriend be then.”

“We are not –”

“He’s not –”

You turned your head to meet Connor’s gaze. Unfortunately, Lila spoke again before either of you could clear the air.

“Oh please. You should’ve seen (Y/N)’s face when we started asking her about you at the table. Chick turned a whole new shade of red. The brainiest thing she said in her floundering was about how good looking you are and I’d have to agree. Something about being sweet and a friend or whatever but who cares about that right?” She laughed loudly, head tipped back, just enjoying causing trouble and seeing you sweat. “There’s that red now. Almost dinner! Gotta dash, Walking Dead. See y’all later.”

You rammed your face into your hands, thoroughly embarrassed, and groaned. “She was just goofing around, Connor,” you mumbled into your palms, “She’s right about dinner, you should get going.” He said your name, but you cut him off. “Just go, Connor” – you looked up at him properly to show your weak smile – “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Connor studied you. It was mildly frustrating that you didn’t want to discuss what Lila had divulged, but it was clear that you were uncomfortable. Was it the idea of being in a relationship with him that caused your discomfort? He reminded himself to bring it up at a later date. For now he could go along with your request if it meant keeping you at ease, so he nodded and leaned over to give your forehead its usual parting peck. It didn’t escape him how you tensed next to him.

As he stood, he noticed a speck of green pushing through the soil in the plant container. Oddly, the sight evoked a sense of melancholy instead of excitement, so he chose not to mention it. Exchanging a brief farewell with you, he took his leave for the department. Maybe Hank would know how to help him.


	7. Chapter 7

“Hank, may I talk to you about something?”

The man was mid bite, hamburger hovering in the air. He shut his eyes, blew a forceful breath out of his nose, and then opened them again. “I get the feeling saying no wouldn’t do much. So what is it?”

Connor rested his weight on his elbows on the tall table next to his superior’s preferred place for lunch: the Chicken Feed food truck. The rest of the table was taken up by an astronomically unhealthy meal that shone from its greasiness. He’d learned to keep dietary comments to a minimum and knew to steer clear from chastising Hank if he wanted to have this conversation with him.

“I’ve been having these…” he pursed his lips in thought. “Feelings. Around (Y/N), and I am unsure how to proceed.”

Hank raised his eyebrows in interest but a teasing look glimmered in his blue eyes. “Feelings, huh?” he echoed before sinking his teeth into his burger. Voice muffled from his full mouth he razzed, “Don’t be coy; you’ve been all _gooey _around her since you met her.”

“Gooey… Soft and sticky; mawkishly sentimental. Sickeningly loving.” Connor scrunched his nose up in disagreement. “I’d like to believe that I have kept my thoughts towards (Y/N) professional and unnoticeable. It would have been inappropriate for building friendship.”

Hank waved a hand dismissively, a limp French fry pinched between his fingers. “Yeah, yeah. Point is, you’ve been like that song by The Police; wrapped around her finger, since forever, and I get to hold that over you. I’ll never understand how she didn’t clue into that godawful_ look_ you’d get on your face whenever she touched you. You looked like a fuckin’ teenager who only needed a pat on the shoulder to blow your –”

“That’s quite alright, Hank, you don’t need to finish that completely _false_ sentence,” Connor seethed. His face was flushed with embarrassment; was he really that bad? But Hank released a hearty chuckle that banished his worries.

“That’s what you get for not letting me eat in peace.” He leaned away as if needing broader view and side-eyed his partner. “Do you… Did CyberLife even give you the parts for that sort of thing?”

Completely deadpan, Connor replied, “I’m equipped to execute an arsenal of seduction tactics CyberLife programmed in me. Had I needed to honey trap anyone in order to fulfill my pre-deviancy mission then I would have done so just as a human would. I suppose I should be thankful that I am free to have morals now.” He cracked a cheeky grin.

“No kidding? Guess Cyber-shit thought of everything, huh. Anyways, go on about those feelings then,” he prompted, shoving another meat and bun filled bite past his lips.

Connor clasped his hands together over the table. A breeze whistled past, flicking up the corners of Hank’s napkins and swaying the stray hairs that fell against the android’s forehead. “I want to protect her,” he said after a moment. “I want to care for her and comfort her. I want to take away all her problems; take them for myself so that she won’t suffer. It seems that when she is well, so am I.”

Hank cupped his greasy hands around his mouth. “Weak!” he cried, stretching out the word like a booing crowd. “C’mon Connor, anyone could say all that altruistic bullshit. Hell even Reed would, they’re on good terms. Kid set him up on a date with one of her friends just a few months ago.”

Connor inadvertently pictured Detective Reed standing over your frail form and his hands curled into fists. “She’s mine,” he practically snarled, LED blinking red momentarily. Then, in the most human fashion, he smacked a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “I don’t know where that came from.” Hank didn’t seem fazed in the slightest and only eyed his partner with a bored expression.

“Relax son, I set you up for that one. No need to go all ‘you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry’ on me,” he teased, impassive act fading as he pushed a fry into his mouth. He was enjoying the entertainment he got by pushing the android’s buttons. “That was still pretty damn weak sauce though, you’re a deviant now for fuck’s sake, where are those feelings?”

Making an educated guess as to the meaning of “weak sauce,” Connor busied his hands by tapping his fingers against the table. He rocked back on his heels, redistributed his weight evenly on his feet, and then rocked back again. Nervous. “When I’m around her my Thirium pump – my synthetic heart – beats faster and my chest feels full. My temperature rises; I often have to cool my systems down. Blue blood rushes to my face; it’s almost unfortunate that I can’t deactivate my ability to blush as a deviant.” He shook his head with a tight smile. “I’m an advanced, state-of-the-art model and yet with (Y/N) my processing slows and I have trouble articulating.”

“The chicken sliders on Lafayette get me going like that too.” Connor looked pointedly at the older man, but he only stuffed the last bite of his burger into his mouth.

“I just… always have the urge to be near her and make contact with her, Hank. It’s difficult to be away. She causes an odd sensation in my abdomen and,” he said, searching for the last few words to express himself, “a tingling feeling under my synthetic skin. She makes me feel _alive._”

“Alright, that’s about as much mushy shit as I can take for the rest of the damn year. Sounds like you’re pretty fuckin’ head over heels for (Y/N). Just tell her then; problem solved.” Hank raised his shoulders in a shrug. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out, kid.”

“My heels are below my head, on the ground.”

“It means ‘in love’ dumbass. Cyber-shit should’ve given you an urban dictionary.”

“What I feel for (Y/N) is unlike the love I have come to terms with having for you and Sumo though. It feels different, is that normal?”

“Yeah,” Hank replied. He swallowed without having put anything in his mouth and looked awkwardly at is partner. “I guess all crammed under one roof we’re like… family love, or some sappy shit like that. If you want. Romantic love is for your little girlfriends – or boyfriends – or whatever – I don’t judge!” He sighed and took a long sip of his pineapple soda. “Are we done with the fuckin’ chick flick talk then? Christ almighty you need friends.”

Connor offered the blundering man a bright, pleasant smile. “I am happy to have a family with you.” By the way Hank’s eyes crinkled minutely he knew his eye-roll and the dismissive wave of his hand were in no way callous or insulting. “I understand that in telling (Y/N) about how I feel towards her I risk making her uncomfortable and at the very most I risk ruining our friendship, unless by some miracle she would like to be more than friends. Did I use ‘by some miracle’ correctly?”

“Yeah, you did. Good job,” the lieutenant complimented. He began to tuck his lunch’s trash into the burger’s cardboard container. “I’ve seen your hokey touchy-feely shit and the way you kids act around each other so I don’t know why you’re whining about being turned down. Listen son: you kids sure as hell _act_ like you’re a couple.” He paused and adopted a more serious expression. “She’s going through a fuckin’ lot right now. It’s up to you if you want to dump this on her with the chance that it could stress her out.”

Connor raised a hand to absently rub at the back of his neck and mulled over the reasonable but mixed messages Hank was sharing. “If I chose to, how would I tell her?”

After an aggressive final slurp of his soda, Hank huffed, “Fuckin’ hell kid, do I look like Will Smith to you? I’m not a fuckin’ date doctor.” He released an exasperated sigh and left the table to toss away his garbage, leaving the android to trail after him as he discovered the meanings behind Will Smith and date doctors. “Besides the obvious way of just _telling_ her by _talking,_ people also give each other things – gifts – to show they care. Flowers, cards, jewelry, chocolate. Shit wait, that’s kinda Valentine’s Day stuff, and (Y/N) doesn’t like being bought things anyways. People write poems or music – you could write her a whole damn song, I’d kill to see that. They go on nice dates at expensive ass restaurants and use candles and rose petals and whatever the fuck else. They swap spit. Kissing, Connor. That about does it for ideas from an old man.”

Connor’s LED flickered as it spun its dull yellow in thought. He was categorizing and prioritizing his partner’s suggestions as quickly as he could. “Thank you,” he said slowly, gaze distant as his mechanical brain worked. “Some options I am unable to execute. I cannot offer (Y/N) a ‘nice date’ at this time and it might be uncomfortable as I don’t eat and she is ill. But I’m gathering that they are important.”

Hank moved his head in what could’ve been a nod. He looked up the street and then down it before stepping onto the road that was between him and his parked Oldsmobile. “Are there any android-y things you guys do to show love?”

“We can interface.” Connor ducked into the passenger side of the vehicle. “Mutually granting each other complete access to memory and processing unit activity by partially deactivating skin and making physical contact is an intimate act because it requires a lot of trust.” He paused, two consecutive clicks from their seat belts filling the silence. “For a human it would be like allowing someone into your brain, free to look through everything stored in it and see it function in real time.”

“You could bring that up with her.”

“But (Y/N) is human.”

“Oh? And is that going to be a fuckin’ problem, bucko? Is (Y/N) not good enough for you because she isn’t plastic?” Hank countered aggressively. He gripped the steering wheel tight as his car idled noisily. “Humans have expiry dates, you know. When she’s old and wrinkly and can’t keep up with you, you just gonna lose interest? Dump her for someone younger and prettier?”

Connor noted how his partner became defensive of you. “Hank, I was simply stating that humans cannot interface. I can assure you that neither (Y/N)’s species nor the process of human life affect my feelings for her. Her humanity only makes her more fascinating and dynamic.”

Hank scoffed as he coaxed his car away from the curb, but it was half-hearted. “Well if you’re ever the cause of a single damn one of her tears, I’ll rip off your limbs and spit roast ‘em one at a time while you watch, got it?”

“Got it.”

Quieter, the grizzled man added, “About telling (Y/N) about the interface thing, I just meant she’d appreciate the sentiment or whatever – you know how she is.” He drowned out the android’s reply of agreement by cranking the stereo’s volume and took a sharp turn in the direction of the police station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall ever consider the similarities between connor and castiel


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a long time to finally get to the end of this one but I don't hate it!  
Unfortunately will be setting sail on a proper hiatus for this piece until my renewed obsession with supernatural fades, with season 15 airing and all it's all that's on my mind. falling in love with another game/movie/show really kicks all knowledge for the other out so it's impossible to write for it!  
but i wanna come back >:( i love connor >:( soon <3  
now i just wanna write about cas n i totally will :')

It was morning. Snack had come and gone, you’d showered, and you were just about to tug on the spine of a puzzle book when a nurse approached you and your sitter, the feisty KL900 android Michelle. The nurse stopped at the bookcase you were crouched in front of and leaned against it.

Miriam was your favourite nurse. Her greying ginger hair, plump scrubs-clad form and wise eyes made her the grandmother figure of the staff. She was kind and approachable, and empathetic almost to the point of it being excessive for her profession. She liked to say that she had broad shoulders and could carry the weight of others’ burdens. Not to mention she had been selflessly hiding and protecting deviant androids in her workplace prior to the granting of their freedom.

“Hey darlin’,” greeted Miriam with a hint of a Scottish lilt. “There’s a Markus here to see you.”

You gripped the IV pole that carried your nasogastric tube goods and rose from the ground. Connor’s Markus? Android Markus? _Leader of the revolution _Markus? Confused, you frowned and cast your gaze down the hallway towards the unit’s doors as if you could see through them to whoever was waiting.

“Yes,” the nurse said softly. “_The_ Markus.” A cheeky grin spread across her wrinkled face as she pushed off of the bookcase and crossed her arms. “It’s no surprise that a lovely lady such as yourself has managed to capture the attention of both the Deviant Hunter _and_ the Deviant Leader.”

You could only blink, mouth in the shape of a small O. Then you looked down at yourself; at your joggers and Connor’s navy hoodie – you weren’t even _close_ to looking presentable for a man of Markus’ stature. You let Miriam extend her aging hand towards you.

“You look fine hun, don’t worry,” the elderly woman reassured as she gently arranged the awry damp hairs on your head. “Besides, if anyone wants to fault you for not looking ready for a photo shoot while in the hospital, they’ll have to take it up with me first, ‘kay darlin’?”

Absently, you nodded, unable to be soothed by Miriam’s comforting smile as you were staring at the doors instead. You followed her down the hallway with your sitter close by, stopping once you reached the doorway to your room. The door after yours led into the nurse’s station, which Miriam waddled into so she could deactivate the electronic lock on the ward’s doors. It was reassuring to see that proper visitor protocol was being followed ever since the negligent allowance of your mother and her subsequent disruptive visit. You didn’t know what you would have done had you been warned of her arrival and given the option to see her. At the very least, you might’ve had the forethought to have a mediator, or schedule a meeting with the social worker.

The unit’s door swung open after the beep of the locking mechanism to reveal your unexpected visitor. It was your first time meeting Markus, yet he seemed to recognize you immediately and started heading your way. He wore a dramatic grey coat that fluttered around his thighs, open to reveal clothing in muted blues and earthy tones. His commanding presence was striking; everything from his powerful strides to the determined expression on his tawny skin gave off an impression of authority. He stopped in front of you and you had to remind yourself not shrink back from his imposing form. Then, to your surprise, his lips spread into a smile.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” he greeted, voice low and smooth like honey. “My name is Markus. Connor’s plate is full with police business and asked me to stop by if I had a moment.” He nodded politely to Michelle, who seemed almost as overwhelmed as you.

Like a typical teen movie trope, you stared up into the heterochromatic eyes of the beautiful man that you were _wildly_ inferior to and stuttered your very first word to him. “Hi,” you said meekly, needing far too many syllables to get the word out. You raised a shaky hand, too tense to extend your arm properly. But Markus only grinned wider; a toothy, brilliant smile appearing on his face as he disregarded your pathetic motion for a handshake and wrapped his arms around you. He was greeting you as if meeting a relative for the first time.

“It’s very nice to finally meet you; Connor has told me so much about you,” he spoke enthusiastically by your ear. He was careful of your attached yellow tube as he gave you a gentle squeeze. When he pulled away, he gripped your shoulder with one hand and took your raised hand in the other. Cautiously, a small smile appeared on your own face as the man pumped your hand once, twice, and then cupped the exposed side with his other hand. “He’s quite taken with you.”

Your eyes widened, small hand warm in the android’s grip. “Is he?”

Markus’ grin relaxed into a friendly smirk, a sparkle in his eyes as he replied, “Without a doubt.” He looked up from you and to the doorway to his right as Michelle disappeared into the vacant but lived-in room. He saw the little green plant container by the window and the dark beanie on the foot of the bed. “Let’s talk in your room.” He was observant, much like Connor. You led him into your temporary home, singular squeaking wheel on your IV pole crying as you tugged the mockery of a coat rack along with you.

“Markus? I’m… kind of confused with why you would come see me. I mean you must be busy seeing as you’re, you know, the leader of a whole people,” you admitted as you dragged the chair from its usual location tucked against the bed. You organized your pole and your tube so that you could climb onto the mattress without getting tangled and then sat facing the chair, legs criss-cross applesauced.

Always sweating but never warm, you pulled your blankets over your lap, tucking edges under to keep the cold air away from your toes and hid your fingers in the sleeves of Connor’s hoodie. You watched as Markus picked up the chair with ease, spun it, and then placed it close in front of you before taking a seat, backwards style. His chest was pressed against the chair’s back, and he rested his arms against the top of it. A completely unintentional power move.

“Connor is a – Connor is _family._ By extension, so are you. He rarely asks for my help, so I am happy to do him a favor. Besides, I was very interested to meet you,” the android explained with a soft smile. “As for my schedule? Extremely busy, you’re right about that. But what’s making a few important people sat in a conference room wait if you’re helping a friend? Although if push comes to shove, I hope you don’t mind me playing the ‘I was seeing someone in the hospital’ card.” He winked, and again you were taken aback by his beauty; his masculine stubble, his strong jaw, his full lips. CyberLife hadn’t been slacking while creating their later models. His speech was polite and proper but relaxed; tone of voice containing an emotional depth that Connor didn’t exhibit as freely.

“Yeah, sure,” you said dumbly, still processing his kindness and solicitous attitude towards you. “I, um, actually really appreciate you taking time to visit me. I’m totally fine when Connor and Hank sometimes can’t come; they have jobs and lives! But you know, it’s been a few days now because of a big case and it isn’t easy being here and I’m so grateful to have company to distract me and I –” You cut your rambling off. It _was_ hard and you _did_ feel alone, but you didn’t need to get frantic about it. “Just, thank you, Markus.”

Markus scooted his seat a couple inches closer to pat your bent knee. “Don’t mention it. Now, how are you doing?”

For you, that was a loaded question. You were by no means happy, stuck in a hospital and confined to rules. You weren’t actively recovering; the loss of control over what you put into your body caused ceaseless suffering. Before you could catch yourself, a fleeting expression of upset took hold of your weary eyes. “I’m fine.”

The meaning behind the human claim of being fine wasn’t lost on Markus’ social repertoire. “And by that, you mean you are not. You’ll have to forgive my ignorance – I don’t know much of your situation – but I’m more than willing to listen if you’d like to talk about it. I’d be happy to offer any insight that I can.”

You pursed your lips, considering the consequences of burdening a man you’ve just met with your issues. Something _did_ weigh heavily on your shoulders, and you knew you’d benefit from talking about it, especially with someone as neutral as your new friend. But at the same time, he was _Markus._ And you were you.

“There’s just something new that’s come up for me.” You scolded yourself internally; you wanted to put Markus at ease, not make it seem like you were baiting for attention. “It’s a little scary so it’s on my mind, but it’s nothing really. I’m certain I’ll be alright, and it’s not important anyways. Just silly, sorry!” You hoped you were minimizing any concerns. “Do you get to see Connor often?”

Markus huffed a small laugh and shook his head. “Tell me what’s troubling you. I want to know.”

Mentally blaming your relenting on the exhaustion that never seemed to let up, you sighed and gestured in a vague motion to your side table, where you’d left the colourful brochure on Barrett’s esophagus from your doctor unfolded. “I got diagnosed with that, Barrett’s esophagus, the other day thanks to the trip that was taken down my throat to see how my insides looked. I have, um, cells that shouldn’t be there… in there.” You frowned, trying to remember the medical terms that had been tossed at you. “Doc said I have high-grade dysplasia. That’s the not good type of precancerous cells, and he said they have to be treated ASAP. I’ll have another endoscopy in case I already have cancer that was missed.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” Markus said, unable to come up with much else besides genuine concern and surprise at the severity of your diagnosis. “I’m certain that the second look is only precautionary and won’t show anything new, and your condition can and will be treated. You will recover your health.”

“I know,” you answered with a sigh. “I’m just a little nervous. It’s kind of scary I guess.”

Returning his hand to your knee, the android smiled warmly up at you and nodded. “Your fear is perfectly normal, it _is_ scary. But you seem to have a history of defying threats against your life, so I’m sure this will be a walk in the park.”

“Connor told you about that?”

Markus folded his arms back over the top of the chair and rested his chin. “Connor confides in me often. You really gave him a scare. If the circumstances weren’t so grim I would’ve been grateful that something caused him to finally be more expressive in his emotions, though I do prefer those emotions to be more positive.” He smirked good-naturedly.

You moved your legs from their crossed position so you could fold them against your chest and have something to wrap your arms around. “Sorry,” you mumbled.

“You don’t have to apologize, (Y/N). He just feels very strongly for you and so he worries when you aren’t well, especially when you don’t let him in.” His eyes met yours as he gave you a sly look, eyebrows raised and lips pursed. “You’ll tell him about what you told me, right? About the precancerous cells?”

“Well, I mean, I don’t want to bother him –”

“It would be more hurtful to keep it from him because you don’t want him to worry than it would be to share the burden with him. He’s going to worry no matter what anyways, so you might as well show that you trust him.” He leaned back suddenly, sending and unsure sidelong glance up to you. “Unless you don’t feel the same. I never thought to ask, I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable.”

You were quick to ease the man’s concerns. “Oh gosh, don’t even worry, I’m think I’m totally in love with him,” you assured, rushing the words out before you could think about what you were saying. You laughed nervously, shoulders stiffening as you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Um, what I meant was… something less obvious and revealing. Maybe, like, I’m _fond_ of Connor. Because I don’t intend to do anything about it while my life is, you know, like this. I can’t even wrap my head around the idea that he might feel the same; I’m just _me_ and that me is an unattractive, sick mess right now.”

“In some ways, you two are a lot like Simon and I. Simon; unconditional devotion I try not to take for granted, myself; doubting my worth and abilities.” He smiled fondly as his honeyed voice drew parallels between you, and you recalled who Simon was and realized the relationships between the two androids. “Eventually you learn to have faith in yourself, I promise. You just have to work on it and trust what others say.”

Your lips quirked into a smile upon hearing the positive words that Markus was kind enough to bestow upon you, and you nodded gently. “Okay, Markus.”

“I’ve got to head out now unless I want to keep a few old men waiting in a conference room, but I’m glad I got to meet you, (Y/N).” He stood and placed the chair back where you had dragged it from, waving his hand so that you wouldn’t stand with him as you felt you should. “I wish you well on your road to recovery, and on your road to romance,” he teased with a waggle of his brows. “I hope to soon hear less of Connor pining over your ‘bright eyes’ and ‘pretty smile’ and ‘admirable strength’ and more about his first relationship.”

You rolled your eyes as the composed man winked, unable to halt the blush that rose to your cheeks at Connor’s compliments. “Thank you for coming to see me,” you told him, holding your hand out for Markus to shake, but again he disregarded the courteous gesture and brushed your small hand aside so he could wrap you up in a parting hug.

“If Connor’s schedule and my own ever line up like this again, I’ll stop by. Goodbye, (Y/N).”

“Bye Markus, kick the conference’s ass!”


End file.
